


honey, take it all

by stngds



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 00:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16074284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stngds/pseuds/stngds
Summary: “I had a dream…. And no matter how hard I try to reach you every time, I’m frozen in place. And no matter what I say, you’re always putting that noose around your throat on your own.”Julian sits: stunned and shamed and powerless against the onslaught of fear behind those words.“Don’t let it become real, Julian. Don’t you dare.”





	honey, take it all

It is the warmth of the sun seeping in through the curtains that eventually rose Fatin up from his slumber. It takes him several seconds to figure out his surrounding, so detached and unfamiliar does his own room feel after the past couple of days. He’s been spending nights in foreign beds, embracing the welcome of new friends… he’s blushing as the evening’s events are coming back to him, realizing that, up to a point, he has not been as alone as he firstly thought. He remembers the Rowdy Raven, and the rush of cold air hitting his face as he and Julien escaped from the crowd. The rest is a blur lost in a groan, and he rushes towards the window, in need of the same release after his sleep.

It takes him a bit to take in the next sequence of actions, eyelids still sleep-heavy. There’s a pebble that, now with Fatin in the window frame, misses the glass entirely and rather hits his temple - and Fatin stumbles to the floor, more surprised than hurt. He rushes towards the window, his eyes immediately falling on Julian’s figure, his scowl replaced by a slight tilt of his mouth at the former’s embarrassment.

“Congratulations, only you indeed would have such a most inelegant way of waking one up.”

He’s away before he can fully see Julian’s reaction, or hear his reply. He takes two stairs at a time, hurrying to Julian’s side. The redhead is fast in approaching him, checking for the wound he’s sure he inflicted on Fatin, but there’s nothing but an almost noticeable bruise. Julian’s lips linger still.

“You’re full of jest even after last night’s rowdiness.”

Fatin scowls, looking up at Julian, eyes confused, asking for an explanation. Julian’s fingers linger at his jaw, an excited grin taking over his features.

 

_His head feels heavy after another cup of alcohol, and Fatin rests his forehead against the table, seeking its coolness. The world is more blurry than usual, half his dizzy mind, half the muted lights in the bar. Part the dazzling brush of hair against Julian’s forehead, but that’s a secret he won’t let out even intoxicated. He can feel Julian’s fingers at the nape of his neck, easing out some of the tension building up in his body, he can hear his humming voice, above the chatter in the bar. It surprises him how familiar these two things have been in his life lately, and what a change they brought upon it compared to the boring passing of the days beforehand. There’s a foreign feel in his magic that he can’t quite explain._

_“You got drunk, my dear?”_

_Fatin’s head rises, ready to deny such claims, but the softness in Julian’s eyes catch him by surprise, and he ends up staring instead. His face doesn’t redden, way past the point of shame, when he blurts out ‘Your eyes are beautiful,” awe obvious in his tone. He can’t quite look away, no matter how much he tells himself he really should._

_Julian laughs, heartily, hand patting the patch, though he knows what Fatin means - and pays back the compliment. It’s as honest as a chronic liar like himself can make it out to be without letting his complete adoration seep through, still shy._

_“But what about my cheeks?” Fatin asks, hand slapping his skin a bit too harshly, as Julian fights back against the instinct to stop his action, to sooth that place. “What about my customs?” Fatin’s hand moves to point at his bare chest, the lack of shirt. His hand squeezes into a fist, his voice cracking, anger bubbling just underneath his skin, powerless. “What about-”_

_“Stop.”_

_Julian’s tone is a bit harsher than he wants to make it, hand reaching desperately for Fatin’s, squeezing, willing in that gesture all the words he doesn’t have the courage to say because they’re too binding. They sit like that, fingers entangled, the laughter of other patrons lulling comfort over their own table, despite Fatin’s arched back, or the slump at Julian’s own shoulder. He’d like to say something, to comfort, but he knows the hypocrisy would be a little bit too much, and certainly called out, so he sits in silence, waits for Fatin to sort out his own feelings, to sort out the feelings he hides with that one interdiction._

_There’s ruckus growing in the tavern, voices getting louder and louder, covering that of the singer in following well-known lyrics. Laughter rises when drunken people are trying to get up, holding onto their tables and companions, wiggling their hips in rhythm with the joyful tones of the music._

_Fatin gets up, tugging at Julian to follow him through tables, towards the part of the room where the music is the loudest, the joy the brightest. As soon as they start dancing, laughter takes over, and Julian sighs happily before squeezing Fatin’s body closer to his. They can barely hear each other over the sound of everything going on between them, so instead they get closer and closer, missing beats, mingling with other dancers, finding their way back to each other with huge grins on their faces, stepping on feet and shouting sorrys over their shoulders, shaking their heads to fight off the sweat, downing drinks that they didn’t pay for._

_The shrill screams of Malak spreads out the crowd in a matter of seconds. The music is cut off mid-note, the bartender slams one glass bottle on the floor, and the grumbles of the patrons scrambling off get lost into the night. There are pushes and shoves, people helping up their friends, whispered encouragements, a couple of curses. Julian is fast in making his way across narrow streets, hand still tightly holding Fatin’s. The adrenaline is still pumping in his veins when they come to a stop in front of Fatin’s shop, and maybe this is why he is unusually less shy than normal when the other man stumbles in his embrace, lips searching his, tongue licking, teeth biting - kiss after kiss._

_Then, just as fast, Fatin recoils, stepping back, finding support in the nearby wall, body hunching as the first wave of nausea hits him. Julian’s palm spread on his back is cooling and secure, drawing comforting circles. His voice coos, mingling with the night’s sounds, and it’s the most comforting thing of all, even as Fantin’s body heaves and heaves._

 

“I did not!” Fatin pouts, horrified and embarrassed in equal measures, as Julian only laughs and laughs, way too pleased, draping his arm around the other’s body, dragging him away into the new day’s adventures.

 

***

 

The wind is comforting against his sun-kissed skin, as Fatin settles on the warm wood of the deck, shuffling to accept Julian’s thigh against his, head immediately resting upon the doctor’s shoulder. It does little to ease the anxious thoughts swimming through his mind, and although Julian says nothing about the way he huddles closer to him, the way his head tilts is question enough.

“You’re not allowed to die, Julian.”

He’s thrown off. “My dear?”

“I had a dream…. And no matter how hard I try to reach you every time, I’m frozen in place. And no matter what I say, you’re always putting that noose around your throat on your own.”

Julian sits: stunned and shamed and powerless against the onslaught of fear behind Fatin’s words.

“Don’t let it become real, Julian. Don’t you dare.”

It’s the first time the doctor actually sees the way his own pain can affect someone who has nothing to do with it to begin with. It’s a bit scary to know that the weight of his every action now falls on someone else’s shoulders too, and maybe that’s why he’s tentative in immediately offering some kind of comfort. He cannot actually promise anything, the future too muddy, too unclear, too… unreal.

Fatin is quick in reading the unsaid words behind Julian’s hesitance. Silently, he gets up, takes several steps back, and with a shrill of joy, frustration and anything in-between, he starts running, jumping into the still water.

Julian holds his breath until he reaches ten. When Fatin’s head emerges above the lulling waves, the doctor has already thrown aside his cape, stopping his fumbling around his buttons to glare at his impossible companion. It’s impossible to be upset at him for a long period of time though, not with the way the sun setting at the horizon is making his skin shine, or the pleased gleam in his eyes when he notices that Julian would have followed him if given a couple more seconds, simply because he cares.

“It’s cold,” Fatin says, though there’s a grin on his face, and a joy under his tongue, all the disappointment he felt before washed away to some faraway place by the roll of the water around him.

Julian extends his hand, helping him get out, fingers already checking at Fatin’s cheeks for any signs of sickness. He brushes off the worry with a shrug and a half apologetic smile. Julian pushes forward, closer, fingers brushing at his wrist, his gaze held down through the entirety of this exchange. Then -

“I cannot promise forever. I can barely promise tomorrow - not with so many pieces of my own mind and self... well, missing. And how could I offer myself, so lacking, to someone so brilliant, to someone who deserves so much better?”

Fatin’s fingers coil around Julian’s collar, yanking him close to his face. “We’re all missing something, Julian. It’s about the jagged edges matching together, in the end.”

His eyes bore into his face with all the intensity of his words, and Julian feels small under such scrutiny, dizzy with the underlying message in the words directed at his heart.

“Do you think we could… make it work? Do you think I can still love you despite everything?”

Julian almost shakes his head, defeated by his own lack of self-confidence. He almost stutters out some hurtful words - but he can feel Fatin shivering in front of him and his worry becomes his main focus. He leans close, fumbling to get his jacket on his shoulders, rubbing his arms, already turning on his heels to start moving towards a refuge from the rapidly growing cold air.

“Julian.”

It stops him in his track, the stubbornness Fatin is showing, despite his rapidly growing embarrassment.

“Do you trust I can love you for who you are? For who you were too?”

“You know I do - trust you, that is.”

“Well then.”

Fatin opens up his arms, looking much like a bat in the dawn, but Julian slams himself in that embrace, is eager in covering his mouth with his own, fingers digging at Fatin’s waist, hungry for contact. Julian doesn’t quite realize what he is truly doing until he hears Fatin’s moans reverberating in his chest, and he pushes back with a start.

Their heavy breathings linger between their bodies, chests heaving. Fatin’s eyes are still closed, a dazed, charming expression on his face, and something in Julian’s chest constricts. He dives right back in, pressing pecks on the entirety of Fatin’s face, joyous in a way that he cannot properly put into words.

“Julian.”

There is a new underlying tone in the way Fatin says his name this time, cheeks so red Julian wants to dive right back into kissing them again. His lover’s pressed palm at his chest stops him from leaning in close again, and he blinks curiously at him.

“Can w-we maybe go to my place?”

Fatin turns his face aside, eye contact too much when he’s making such a bold request, when he’s so embarrassed he wants to bury himself in the sand. For a couple of seconds, Julian stutters and stumbles, hands stopped mid-air, face reddening. Brain malfunctioning. It is Fatin’s short, shy laughter that snaps him out of his own thoughts, and then he’s tugging at his lover’s hand, hurrying through small unknown alleys, picking the fastest route to the comfort of the apprentice’s room.

If along the way they stop for a rough push at Julian’s shoulder and five minutes of making out, they forget to lock the door behind them, they make one of Asra’s jars break because of a slight distance miscalculation – it’s all something that they’ll deal with the morning after. For now, the only thing that counts is each other: Fatin’s fingers snaked around Julian’s throat, and the slight lip bite accompanying it; Julian’s moans against Fatin’s lips, hitched and high pitched and breathless and burning fires inside both of their bodies.

Julian’s hands are fast at unbuttoning his shirt, allowing Fatin’s hands to shove it off his body. The blush that accompanies the movement is a surprise, and Julian’s kisses turn even gentler as a result, his fingers softer at his lover’s hips.

“Touch me,” he breathes, and they make eye contact, making sure once again that the other is comfortable and at least half as needy as they feel. It takes Julian’s palm guiding his own, but Fatin’s own curiosity soon takes over, fingers delicately dancing over the doctor’s chest, eyes dancing lower.

Julian is delicate – even when pushing at Fatin’s shoulder so that he can fall on his bed, even as his hands untie the laces of his pants, help Fatin out of his own. It’s mostly nervous fumbling – until they find each other again, naked this time, and the kisses resume with even more intensity.

“My dear,” Julian murmurs between the bites he’s leaving along Fatin’s collarbones, moving towards his chest alongside his words, “I am still so unworthy of seeing you like this.” His mouth latches onto one of Fatin’s nipples, tongue greedy, teeth delicate, one of his hands mimicking the movements on the other nipple. Julian’s eyes don’t leave Fatin’s face though, now plastered in embarrassed ecstasy – and his other hand moves lower, cupping Fatin’s already hardened member.A groan escapes between Fatin’s lips, body rolling upwards to meet more of Julian’s mouth and touch.

“…To hear you like this.” With Julian’s hot breath between his legs, Fatin already whimpers. When his lips close around his member, he moans and Julian hums in approval, continuing to pleasure his lover, his own member throbbing painfully at each of Fatin’s breath hitches and groans.

There’s Fatin’s hand at his shoulder, and in the blink of an eye, their positions are switched, Julian now on his back and staring up Fatin – as he gets closer, leaving tender kisses along his jawline, eventually tasting a bit of himself on his lips.

“You know I… I love you, right?” Fatin asks, searching for Julian’s eyes, even as he positions his entrance in line with his hardened, proud cock. Julian swears when Fatin lowers himself, words lost and phrases left unfinished, his hands rising towards his lover’s hips, guiding, shushing in comfort the pained gasps of air coming from the man on top of him. His eyes are filled with adoration, thumbs softly massaging into Fatin’s skin, a whisper barely audible between their labored breaths:

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission, so the character of the apprentice (Fatin) does not belong to me, and neither most of the plot work. Hope you still enjoyed my writing enough to read this piece!


End file.
